Slayergate
by Lora Darcy
Summary: The Nixon Administration. Throw in Spike and Drusilla. Will the White House ever be the same? Hysterical chaos ensues!
1. Wire Tap Information

**Title**:    Slayergate 1/?

**Author**: Lora Darcy

**Email**: lora_darcy@yahoo.com

**Feedback**: Please.  The more reviews I get, the better!  I have millions of ideas swirling in my head and any comments would be useful in sorting them all out.

**Summary**: The Nixon Administration.  Throw in vampires.  Add a slayer.  Hysterical chaos ensues! 

**Rating**: PG-13 (Only because the Nixon Administration's actions are rated PG-13… Hehe)

**Disclaimer**: Concept is my own idea.  All Nixon staff members were/are real people and no offense is intended. Reeves and Woodward/Bernstein are the authors of the books that inspired this story.  Vampire stuff belong to Joss Whedon.

**Notes**: Just a funny idea I got in the middle of the night after reading a biography on Nixon's years in the White House.  Hope someone else finds it enjoyable. Must say, despite my biography reading, my Nixon still sounds like someone from the movie _Dick_.  Oh well…  All Nixon information, dates, facts, etc are taken from the book Nixon: Alone in the White House by Richard Reeves.   My interpretation of Nixon Administration is taken from his book.  All later Watergate scandal stuff is also taken from All the President's Men  by Woodward and Bernstein.  

**ATTENTION:** Guess what?  Yay! I was good and re-edited this story too. Tada! A new chapter should be up this week.

Here goes nothing!

Time: September, 1969

Place: The White House 

"Excuse me, Mr. President, sir!" R. H. Haldeman exclaimed, stepping into the Oval Office.  "Something extremely important has come up!"

 "What do you want?" Nixon barked, looking up from his desk.  "Don't you know I'm in the middle of something right now?"  The president frowned at his chief of staff and began to wave a paper-filled fist in the air.  "Have you seen the latest news summaries?"  

 "Why, of course, Mr. President," Haldeman replied slowly.  "In fact, that's part of the reason–" 

"That damned press!" Nixon cut off, his face beginning to turn an unpleasant shade of red.  "They're always out to get me!  That's it!  I've had it.  Don't let the _New York Times_ or the _Washington Post_ ever be allowed White House interviews.  Don't let them come to press conferences.  Don't let them get near Richard Nixon!  First, they criticize my behavior and my personality.  Now, they're blaming me for those damned murders we've been reading about.  Saying I'm ignoring domestic issues and all that.  I don't like this kind of thing."

"Actually, Mr. President, that's what I'm here to talk about today." Haldeman nervously licked his lips, waiting for the president's next reaction.

Nixon angrily set his news reports on his desk.  "You're here to talk about the damned press? Don't ya know I've got a dinner with that prime minister of France in an hour?  I can't talk about the nosey hack reporters without getting indigestion.  And I can't eat all that fancy froo-froo French crap if I'm suffering from damn stomach acid."

"Sorry, sir," Haldeman answered, shaking his head.  "I'm not here about the press, although I guarantee you we are working as hard as possible to control them, sir."  He paused for a moment, considering his next words.  "Ehrlichman has found some interesting information.  Through the *ahem* phone taps, we have unearthed some rather… special and unusual data about the recent murders nationwide."

"What do ya mean, 'special' information?"  Nixon grumbled, sitting down in his presidential chair.  "We aren't talking about retards, are we?  You know my opinions on them.  There are far too many retards running around these days.  They're everywhere!  Getting into political offices, drooling around DC, blaming me for Vietnam.  Bob, I don't like them at all."

"Mr. President, sir, I don't think this has anything to do with… retards."  Haldeman informed Nixon seriously.  

"Well then, what's it all about?" Nixon snapped.  "H, what's it all…"  The president stopped, realizing how angry he sounded.  It was only a few months into his presidency and he was already abandoning all of his personal resolutions.  Somewhere in his desk was a piece of yellow notebook paper saying that he planned on working on his "spiritual" image.  Nixon sighed.  So much for that idea.  He didn't think anything spiritual would end up in the presidency.  That sort of thing just didn't mesh with the White House atmosphere.  He'd have to throw away that note as soon as he got the chance.  "As I was saying, what's this all about then?"

"Mr. Nixon, uh, it seems that the recent murders have to do with…" Haldeman paused, taking a deep breath.  "Vampires!" He finally shot out, blushing slightly at his statement.

"What are you talking about?  Vampires!  Vampires?"  Nixon chuckled to himself.  "Seems like you guys have been watching one too many of those damned new horror movies.  I always said that movies were bad.  First with that horrible _West Side Story_ propaganda crap.  Now those Hollywood brats have gone and polluted my staff's minds with vampire bullshit.  I don't need this.  Next chance I get those blasted Hollywood Democrats are getting what they deserve!"

Haldeman sighed.  He knew that it would be difficult to convince Nixon that vampires truly exist.  "I'm afraid that vampires are real.  You see, after listening the tapes, Kissinger and I did a bit of investigating ourselves."  Haldeman set his briefcase on the president's desk, and slowly opened it.  "We knew that the phone taps seemed a bit unreliable.  After a late night stroll in downtown Washington D.C., we became sure of the existence of vampires.  And to make sure you'd believe us, we got you these."  The chief of staff pulled out several black and white photographs.  "Mr. President, here's all the proof you'll need."

The black and white photographs were spread out across Nixon's desk.  One showed a horrible fanged face of a vampire.  Another showed the same "man" with his teeth in a young woman's neck.  The last showed the now-bloody vampire dropping the dead girl on the ground.

Worried, Nixon furrowed his eyebrows.  "How do we get rid of these… these vampires?"

"Apparently, we don't," was Haldeman's strange reply.  "There's some sort of girl… a slayer, they call her.  She is…" He paused, digging through his briefcase.  "I know I've got that message somewhere…  Hold on…"  Suddenly he found a tattered piece of parchment, obviously torn out of some aged book.  "'Into every generation a slayer is born.  One girl, in all the world, a chosen one.  One born with the strength and skill to hunt the vampires.'  It's her job to find these vampires and kill them."

"How does she help me?"  Nixon asked, frowning.  "I mean, how does this shaper or whatever her name is, get rid of this problem?"

"It seems that she kills these vampires with wooden stakes.  It's a very independent thing…."

"I want her!  Get her here!  I don't want any vampires waltzing into the Oval Office, trying to bite my neck and eat me or anything like that.   Get that slapper girl here!"

Haldeman cleared his throat.  "We don't think that would be very wise, Mr. President. As you know, all White House employees are eventually made public.  We can't have the American people knowing we have some teenage girl spending her nights at the White House.  She's not even of voting age and lives in Bulgaria or some such place."  He paused, a small smile growing on his face.  "Besides, it doesn't seem that the vampires are any threat to you. In fact, we may be able to use them to our advantage."

"You mean they can help me out?"  Nixon questioned.  "How?  Give me all the facts."

"Well, there is past precedent of White House cooperation with vampires.  They can be especially useful for dealing with more… secretive actions."  Haldeman's smile widened.  "Kennedy even used them.  How else do you think he was able to steal those votes from you in Chicago?  The dead really were voting.  In the form of vampires, that is."

"Kennedy used them?!?"  Nixon exclaimed.  "That's it.  I'm not about to have that damn Jack one up me.  Nixon's better than him.  I want some vampires on my staff.  Get me on the line with one now.  Immediately!"


	2. Woodstock Vision

**Title**:    Slayergate 2/?

**Author**: Lora Darcy

**Email**: lora_darcy@yahoo.com

**Feedback**: Please.  The more reviews I get, the better!  I have millions of ideas swirling in my head and any comments would be useful in sorting them all out.

**Summary**: The Nixon Administration.  Throw in vampires.  Add a slayer.  Hysterical chaos ensues! 

**Rating**: PG-13

**Disclaimer**: Concept is my own idea.  All Nixon staff members were/are real people and no offense is intended. Reeves and Woodward/Bernstein are the authors of the books that inspired this story.  Vampire stuff belong to Joss Whedon.

**Note**: Please note that this chapter takes place prior to the events in Chapter One.

NEW: This was also briefly revised on June 27, 2003 with some minor changes.  New chapter should be up by the end of the week.  Thanks to everyone who has reviewed! If anyone has any particular comments, plot-devices, historical events, etc that they want incorporated into this fic, please let me know.

Chapter Two: Woodstock Vision 

Scene: New York

Time: August, 1969 

"Spikey…" Drusilla murmured, running her hands through the sleeping Spike's nearly shoulder-length dirty blonde hair.  "Wakey, wakey my Spikey…"

"What is it pet?" Spike muttered, groggily.  He was tired.  The day before the vampires had made an appearance at Woodstock.  He'd fed off of one of those flower people and now only remembered starring at his hand for what must have been hours. William the Bloody vaguely recalled his girlfriend, Drusilla, drinking from another drugged-out hippie.  Hours later the two vampires had made their way back to Spike's current vehicle, a Volkswagen bus.  After what they'd done together, he was surprised Drusilla hadn't slept longer.  Their pleasures of the night before had certainly left him drained.  "Daddy's listening…" He mumbled, turning towards his undead girlfriend.  It looked like he would have to get up.

"I forgot to tell you," Drusilla said, anxiously wringing her hands.  "I forgot to tell my darling boy everything."  She began to run her fingers across her current apparel- a peasant top and long patchwork skirt.  "Look at all the patterns." Her fingers lovingly traced over each quilted square of her skirt.  "Not one is the same…  Miss Edith loves their colors.  Always bright, always dancing…  I want to dance."  The vampire looked over at her shaggy-haired lover, grinning.  "Let's go back to Spain.  I want to salsa again."  Drusilla began to snap her fingers, moving her arms to her rhythm.  "Olé!"

William the Bloody sat up from the floor.  "We'll go back to Spain soon, pet," Spike promised, gently taking Drusilla's hands in his own.  "But what did you forget to tell me?"  Drusilla continued to dance to the music in her head, seemingly ignoring her lover.  "Did you have a vision Dru?  Talk to me, talk to Spike…"

"Can I have another yummy hippie today Spike?" The vampire licked her lips.  "He was so tasty… And I saw such things…"

"That's right love, tell me about your visions…"

"The president wants us.  He wants us to kill… Grrr…  There will be blood everywhere, mayhem, murder….  It will be so much fun…"

Spike was baffled.  "You don't mean that sodding Nixon bloke, do you?  'Cause he's always looked like a pansy to me and I don't fancy spending any time with him."

Drusilla nodded slowly.  "We must go… go to Washington."  She smiled up at William the Bloody.  "I've always wanted to visit the White House..."

"Bloody hell…" Spike sighed.  He hoped Drusilla's vision was genuine.  Just a few days ago she'd fed off of a completely wasted Hendrix groupie.  She spent the next few hours spouting complete nonsense.  Nonsense that was even crazier than normal.  Thought all her dollies were melting, that Spike himself had grown warts, and that they had somehow traveled to Antarctica.  And this president of United States nonsense sounded similar.  During her drug encounter Drusilla had sworn it was necessary for them to steal aboard Apollo 11 and fly to the moon.  That wasn't bloody likely.  Spike didn't like the idea floating around inside of a small, claustrophobic-inducing space shuttle.  He was in a good place physically.  A place where the sodding sun in outer space hadn't turned him into a pile of ashes.  Besides, the spaceship had already made its famous moon landing, proving that Drusilla's feeding had made her talk even more deranged than usual. Now, her new Nixon talked seemed equally batty.  Spike really didn't want to bother with the President idea if it was just crazy talk. "Kitten, are you sure?  Do we really need to take a trip to see that bleeding Dick git?"

Drusilla nodded again.  "The capitol is just right for us.  It needs us."

Spike shrugged his shoulders.  "Fine.  Let's go to Washington.  I was getting tired of this whole hippie bit.  All too smelly for me.  Couldn't those guys take a shower once in a while?"  He leaned over and kissed Drusilla's neck.  "Princess, let's go feck up politics."  If they grew bored with the D.C. idea they could always go back to Spain.  The bullfights were always deliciously messy in the fall.


End file.
